is there something in your eyes
when your fingers work too fast
at unwinding my threads
a spindle
gathering my colors
so that you can misuse them
however you like
is there something in your touch
when it’s created by warm lies
lining skin to make a barrier
that holds reality back
that holds my love back
is there anything there
at all
or are you a fabricated idea
made of morning haze
and storybook clichés
locking me in a chokehold
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